


Timber.

by fuuckya



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boyfriends in love, Canon, Fluff, Fond!Louis, Headcanon, Just words, No Plot, drunk!Harry, gross fluff, larry is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuuckya/pseuds/fuuckya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Louis tuts at him, shaking his head, ‘you didn’t have beer and burgers did you?’</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Harry shakes his head, a sheepish smile creeping and dimpling his cheeks. ‘We had chips and beer and shots.’ He says, all chipper and a little bit proud.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A tale of a drunk Harry Styles and the boy who is hopelessly in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timber.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. Drunk Harry speaks to me on a spiritual level, he's such a panda.
> 
> Title taken from that Pitbull ft, Kesha song.
> 
> Edited: 10/10/15

Louis should have known.

Harry has no self-control, honestly. He _says_ that he’s going out for a beer and burger with Jeff and his friends, he’s going to have an early night and that they can spend all day together tomorrow. 

Instead, Louis gets a text from him just past midnight which is pretty much sober sounding, but the thing that gives him away is the fact that his phone has autocorrected _’on’_ to _’in’_ and Harry would never send a text that badly constructed. Also, the message so subtly says _I’m in my way home sorry I was so late not that drunk I love youzxx_

Louis can’t help but snort and roll his eyes, his boy is ridiculous. He can’t bring himself to be mad despite the broken promises, he’s spent all night in his pjs catching up on The Walking Dead while playing Trivia Crack with various friends on his phone. It’s been a lazy night and that’s exactly what he wanted. Well, what he wants every night. For a year straight. Preferably with Harry curled up under his legs, but – 

Right on cue he hears the front door slam and the distinct sound of Harry tripping on his own feet. The thudding sound of his yeti of a boyfriend echoes down the hall, signifying that he’s home. Louis closes his new game, unfolds himself from the sofa with a sigh and goes to investigate, in case Harry has somehow fallen over and died. 

He finds his giraffe boyfriend propping himself up against the entrance wall, folded into himself attempting to pull off his new leather boots. Even though Harry’s face is obstructed by his messy hair, Louis knows the face he’s wearing, that cute frown with his little tongue pointing out between his lips in concentration. He’s too cute, really. 

‘Honey, I’m home,’ Louis sing songs for him. Harry’s head snaps up so quickly at the sound of Louis’ voice that he loses his balance and has to splay himself against the wall in the vain attempt to keep himself upright. He smiles big and dopey at Louis, overwhelmed to see him. 

‘Heeeyyyyyy,’ he drawls, voice pitched ten notches higher than usual which is another indicator that he’s fucking wasted. Although his less-than-graceful entrance was enough evidence that Louis needed for conviction.

Louis smiles at him anyway, all crinkly eyed and fond, always hopelessly endeared. ‘Hey, love. Did you have a good night?’ 

Harry nods feverishly, smiling beautifully bright, and drunkenly pushes his hair off his face. Drunkenly as in, it takes him three goes to get it all off, he just kind of paws at his face like a puppy until all the strands are clear. He almost falls over again in the process but Louis catches him this time with firm hands on his hips.

Harry Styles, Clumsy Drunk.

‘Missed you,’ Harry slurs, folding down and curling up into Louis embrace. His hair falls everywhere, into Louis’ eyes, into his mouth. His broad body encompasses him, and his voice vibrates in the hollow of Louis’ collarbone, ‘Y should’ve come oot.’

Louis chuckles, bracing himself as Harry puts more weight into him than their normal hugs. No wonder the boy is always falling over, he can barely stand in Louis’ embrace let alone on two sober feet. Harry tries to press kisses to his neck but there’s a lot of hair in the way and it tickles. Louis laughs and squirms away so they can look at each other, ‘how drunk are you?’ he asks, eyes glittering with laughter.

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, but Harry’s eyes narrow like he’s been accused of a lie and says indignantly, ‘I didn’t drink that much!’ and attempts to push Louis off him. He’s about as threatening as a kitten, his cheeks are still flushed from all the alcohol, and his eyes are half closed like he’s squinting in the dim lighting of their hallway. He’s so cute that all Louis can do is shake his head with a knowing smirk.

Harry Styles, Stubborn Drunk.

Harry dissolves into giggles, always a poor actor, and finally untangles their limbs. He presses one finger to Louis’ lips (although he almost puts it up his nose) and whispers, ‘shut up’ like he knows.

Louis decidedly doesn’t try to annoy him, because it’s late and he’s tired. Instead he points to Harry’s muddy boots and motions for him to lift up his foot. He crouches down and with a little bit of effort, although a lot less than Harry’s initial attempt, helps Harry to slide them off thankfully, with no injury. 

He gently brushes Harry’s bicep and motions with his head where he came, ‘Let’s go to bed then and you can tell me about your night,’ he prompts, leading the way back into the living room and hoping Harry can walk by himself. After all, he’s bigger than Louis, but he’s not that drunk that Louis has to carry him. Which happens more often than Harry would like to admit, he’s a lightweight. 

They make their way through the living room, Harry rattles off the events of his night out. Louis scurries to turn off the TV and lights, still listening to Harry’s drunken stories. Then they pad their way to the bedroom at the back of the house. Louis turns the bedside lamps on, because the light is nicer, and when he turns around Harry already has his top off as a heap on the floor and is currently struggling to pull off his skinny jeans.

Louis watches him in amusement because Harry can barely undress himself when he’s stone cold sober, let alone drunk enough that his fine motor skills are shot. Louis gives up after a brief moment and steps forward to bat Harry’s hands away, tutting, to do the job himself. However, Harry has a different reading on the situation because his hands just fall uselessly to his side and he slowly tilts his hips up and pushes his crotch towards Louis. 

He’s not really helping the situation, but Louis manages to get his jeans down as far as the thickest part of his thighs before he reaches a roadblock. Harry just steps forward and encompasses him again, his hands finding their way down the back of Louis’ pyjama pants to cup his arse, big warm hands on either cheek, squeezing gently. That’s a distraction enough.

Harry styles, Handsy Drunk.

‘Lou,’ he says, his voice low and rough. Louis looks up at him through his lashes, eyes darting between pink lips and green eyes. He wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue and Harry leans down and presses a sweet kiss to his mouth, shuffles his body closer. 

It doesn’t take much for Louis to part his lips, licking softly into Harry’s warm mouth, tasting the sweetness of his - ‘Oh God,’ Louis groans, words muffled in Harry’s kiss. He pulls back abruptly with a grimace, wiping his hands across his mouth in disgust, ‘did you have shots?’ 

Harry frowns at the sudden loss of wetness against his mouth. Honestly, his mouth is bitter with the fresh taste of alcohol, like he’s just finished off a bottle in the car on the way home. Louis wouldn’t be surprised to find an empty bottle thrown haphazardly in the bushes next to the entrance. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Harry is still rubbing up against him, but his coordination is poor and Louis isn’t sure if he’s getting off on his hip or just swaying on the spot with his crotch pressed to him. Harry’s probably too drunk to really get going so it’s probably the latter. It takes him a while to answer, eyes still glazed over, and Louis is half surprised when he doesn’t even attempt to lie. ‘We bought whiskey shots,’ he slurs.

Louis tuts at him, shaking his head, ‘you didn’t have beer and burgers did you?’

Harry shakes his head, a sheepish smile creeping and dimpling his cheeks. ‘We had chips and beer and shots.’ He says, all chipper and a little bit proud.

Christ.

‘You’re going to vomit,’ Louis says firmly, fixing Harry with a serious expression, ‘you did this at your birthday and you were sick for three days.’ 

Harry rolls his eyes and scoffs, looking a little annoyed. His hand are still cupping Louis’ bare arse so he can’t actually be that mad. ‘No, muuuum, I’ll be fine.’ He drags the word out for an obnoxious amount of time.

That’s a lie. Harry has this way of drinking where he just downs as much as he can before his body can tell him he’s had too much. At his 20th birthday he drank so many different shots but somehow managed to make it out of the party in one piece, although he threw up the second he stepped foot in their car that was waiting out the back of the venue. Luckily it was on the leather seats so it was easy enough to clean (Louis’ tells Harry this to make him feel better, he actually has no idea).

Louis decides to humour him. ‘Okay,’ he sighs prettily, leaning into his body heat again, pressing insistent kisses across his jaw. He whispers husky, sexy, right into the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck, ‘just remember flush the toilet when you're done.’

Harry may be drunk but his wit is still sharp and quick, he pulls Louis impossibly closer and retorts, voice just as dark. ‘Loov it when you talk dir-y to me,’ 

Louis bursts out in laughter, so loud and sudden that his hand flies up to cover his mouth. Harry’s hands finally find out of Louis’ pants and in a sudden burst of coordination, manages to take off his jeans and socks in one go and leaves them a heap on the floor. 

He pushes past Louis and launches himself face-first on the mattress, bouncing comically before he stills. His hair splays out absolutely everywhere and his cute little bum wiggles in the air. Louis watches him with a bemused smile while Harry giggles to himself like he’s a comic genius.

‘I’m sooooooo drunk,’ he slurs, fisting the sheets in both hands. He continues to laugh to himself as Louis picks up his clothes and folds them nicely, puts them on the chair in the corner of the room already piled with his own clothes. 

He can hear Harry’s muffled words behind him and he rolls his eyes fondly, turns and asks, ‘what, babe? I can’t hear you.’ Harry rolls over sluggishly onto his back, he’s still laughing a little manically, eyes squeezing shut comically like an emoji. He manages to say, ‘where gettn’ in th’ cab from the bar – and, and Rowan, when he open’d the door he just-’ (he actually slaps himself in the forehead and Louis’ winces at the sound) ‘-fook’n whacked m’self in the face and … it was fook’n hilarious’. The sound that he makes is not human, Louis’ is startled by the suddenness of it. Harry rolls over onto his other side, so his naked back is to Louis, and curls into a laughing, spluttering ball. 

Louis decides to ignore him for the time being as he pads to the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving Harry’s hyena laughter for a moment. He laughs to himself around his toothbrush at his silly boy, still cackling to himself in the other room.

Harry Styles, Giggly Drunk. 

Louis thinks that he should try and get Harry to brush his teeth, because both of them will suffer in the morning (he can’t help himself, he loves little morning kisses) instead he settles for filling up a glass of water to take to his boyfriend, who’s fallen silent and probably passed out on the bed.

He’s definitely not passed out, but he looks pretty damn close to it. He’s on his back again, neck craned down to watch the bathroom door. His eyes are droopier than before, sleep starting to win over the alcohol. He’s watching Louis’ quietly, eyes blinking slowly, owlishly. Louis can’t help the little smile that crosses his lips, as he puts the glass on the bedside table and knees his way onto the bed, never taking his eyes off his boy.

‘Hey, love.’ He brushes his hand over Harry’s forehead, pushes the floppy curls from his face. Harry smiles back at him, all warm and radiant like the bedroom lights around them. 

‘I love you,’ Harry mummers, as Louis hand comes down to cup his cheek, thumb stroking soft skin.

Louis heart feels like it’s going to burst, ‘I think it’s bedtime,’ he says instead, but Harry knows, Louis doesn’t need to say it. His eyes are soft, his smile even softer, Louis can _feel_ it in his face. He loves his boy.

‘I just really fucking love you,’ Harry says again, although a bit louder this time, like Louis didn’t hear him just moments ago. ‘I’m just fucking glad I met you.’ Okay, so the softness is gone and Harry’s eyes are dark and a small frown creeps on his face. Louis can’t help the small bubble of laughter that escapes him, he looks so serious.

‘No,’ Harry says firmly, shaking his head on the mattress. Louis moves his hand from his cheek to his bare chest, right over his heart. ‘Imagine wha’ we’d be like if we never met, it would be a fook’n – a fook’n travesty Lewis!’ He flails a little bit, obviously mistaking Louis’ fond amusement with teasing. This is a subject he’s very passionate about, even though Louis is passionate about it too. 

Harry Styles, Aggravated Drunk (this is a first).

‘I mean - ’ he looks like he attempts to sit up, exasperated, but his co-ordination fails him, ‘- It’ll be a fook’n crime that we never met!’

Louis shushes him gently, placing a thumb on Harry’s plump bottom lip. ‘Lucky we did meet, eh? What would I do without your drunken arse?’ His eyes twinkle and he’s smiling stupidly at his stupid boy.

Harry quiets down and pouts, frown still denting his forehead. He looks so funny and adorably sweet at the same time. Louis can’t stand it anymore so he leans down to press kisses over and over to the little line in Harry’s brow. ‘Your drunken arse is mine, always.’ 

Yeah, he’s sappy. Not only in the confines of their bedroom. Every little frown makes Louis fall in love with Harry just that little bit more (if that’s possible). 

‘I love you,’ Harry mumbles, lifting his arms up and wrapping them around Louis’ shoulder. His breath is warm against Louis’ neck, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ He tilts his chin and presses kisses where his words fell, right against Louis’ Adam’s apple. 

Harry Styles, ‘I love you’ Drunk.

They bask in the warmth of skin and kisses for a while, until Harry’s thumb that’s stroking Louis’ shoulder blade has stopped moving, meaning that he’s probably fallen asleep. He’s finally succumbed to sleep, wrapped in Louis’ embrace (he can’t fall asleep any other way).

Louis detangles himself and finds Harry still stirring, although on the brink of falling into unconsciousness. He manages to coax him into moving up the bed so his head is on a pillow, with quiet words and gentle touches. It’s easier than usual, which Louis’ is thankful for, he’s almost falling asleep himself.

Once his boy is settled he worries about himself. He strips off the remainder of his clothes, shuts the bathroom door, turns off the bedside lamps and finally gets under the covers, curling into Harry’s warm, sleeping form. They both fall asleep shortly after, safe and comfortable. 

(It’s about six in the morning when Harry bolts out of bed, so quickly that he jolts Louis who’s rolled away from him in his sleep. He stumbles on long, spidery legs, knocking into the side of the bed and probably into the mirror as he makes his way to the bathroom. The bright orange light that comes on blinds Louis as he tries to open his eyes, feeling disoriented. 

Thankfully, the bathroom door closes this time, making the room go from bright to dark in a matter of seconds. Louis sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sits up, takes the full glass of water from his bedside table and places it on Harry’s side, and waits.

Harry Styles, Vomit Drunk.

Louis’ knew this would happen.)


End file.
